


Coming Down

by WintersLonging (LivingSilver)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Dirty Talk, Drugs, Dubious Consent, F/M, Maybe - Freeform, Slight Choking, Smut, face riding, its really more like holding, thigh riding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-04
Updated: 2016-09-04
Packaged: 2018-08-12 21:22:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7949614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LivingSilver/pseuds/WintersLonging
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The whole thing is a mess really. You had been sent into a gala event of Hydra officers to see what information you could get. He and Natasha had been sent to observe. An officer spiked your drink. Natasha tried to warn you but your earpiece was suddenly dead and you didn’t get the warning. Banner said the drug was a lethal combination of altered ecstasy and some kind of synthetic aphrodisiac. Banner wouldn't keep you in the lab because he said there was nothing he could do, just that you would be better off alone--you would be feeling very "affectionate" is the word he had used.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coming Down

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! I know its been awhile since I've written anything. I've been really busy and I had some writer's block. But here's this. I don't even know what this is or where it came from. Here's my side blog jamesfckmebarnes.tumblr.com. Send me prompts or something, idk. 
> 
> Disclaimer  
> Also there's a part in here which could be interpreted as choking but its not meant to be choking. So if you have a choking kink then feel free to read that way, but if that makes you uncomfortable then you can take it as it is, because it's not really very graphic (I don't think, feel free to comment if I'm wrong). It's really just supposed to be like holding/resting his hand against your throat. But again, its open to interpretation.

Bucky doesn't seemed too surprised at cracking his door open to find you, wide eyed and fucked out, grinning like some kind of demon.

 

"You need to go back to your room," Bucky grouses at you drowsily. He’s not wearing a shirt. And his sweatpants have slipped just below the jut of his hips.

 

"No, Bucky, I want you," you push through the crack in the door to press against him, tip toeing up to whisper in his ear "want you so fucking bad. I want your mouth, Buck. Want your pretty mouth on my pussy, please-"

 

Bucky pushes a hand against your chest separating your bodies. Every word, your delicate lips against his ear, has his cock twitching in his sweatpants. He's treading dangerous water here and if he's not careful, you're going to pull him under.

 

"I told you, you're not yourself right now. We can--talk about this when the drugs wear off." Bucky says firmly, trying to appease you.

 

That's not good enough. You need to someone, no, Bucky to touch you. You're dying, desire flaming under your skin, the heat driving you insane. Everything feels so good. Even the air brushing over your skin is setting you off. You need relief. You need Bucky.

 

"Please, let me stay Bucky. I don't want to be alone. I'm scared. I don't know what's happening to me," you plead manipulatively with too big eyes, eclipsed by blown out pupils. It’s a low card to play, but you play it nonetheless.

 

Bucky sighs. He doesn't fucking know what to do with you. The whole thing is a mess really. You had been sent into a gala event of Hydra officers to see what information you could get. He and Natasha had been sent to observe. An officer spiked your drink. Natasha tried to warn you but your earpiece was suddenly dead and you didn’t get the warning. Banner said the drug was a lethal combination of altered ecstasy and some kind of synthetic aphrodisiac. Banner wouldn't keep you in the lab because he said there was nothing he could do, just that you would be better off alone--you would be feeling very "affectionate" is the word he had used-- as long as someone checked in on you once every hour.

 

He contemplates going to Steve. Steve with his unbreakable, righteous resolve would keep him straight. Could look after you until this wore off. But revealing your condition to other members of the team would probably just cause you to be more embarrassed after the fact. He's not sure who would end up more embarrassed anyways--you or Steve.

 

"Please, Bucky, I'll be good, I promise, don't leave me alone."

 

"Fine," Bucky huffs, resolve cracking  "but I'm kicking you out if you try anything".

 

You smile, a grateful Cheshire grin at him, slipping into the room without further resistance.

 

You stretch out languidly on the couch. Breathe coming shallowly. Sweat beginning to bead on the dip of your chest even though you’re barely wearing anything. Just cotton shorts and a tank top. Bucky stands over you, concerned.

 

"I'm going to feel for a fever," he clarifies, before bringing his flesh hand to rest on your forehead.  The simple touch causes your back to arch and your eyes to flutter shut.

 

Your skin burns beneath Bucky's hand and he leaves, returning with a cool washcloth. He crouches next to the couch and soothes the cloth over your forehead. The stark contrast in temperature has tears beading at the corners of your eyes. It’s too much, it hurts. The cold seems to somehow ignite the heat even more instead of quelling it.

 

"No, Bucky, stop, please, it hurts."

 

"It hurts?" Bucky frowns, taking the cloth away.

 

"The cold, it hurts."

 

He sets the cloth down on the table. You reach for his left arm, the one closest to you. The arm is cool, but not overly so like the washcloth Bucky had doused with ice water. Bucky glances down at your hand on his arm and back up to your face. A warning.

 

"Please Bucky, you can make me feel better, take it away, Bucky, make it stop-"

 

"Doll-" Bucky begins sympathetically before you cut him off.

 

"Why are you doing this to me Bucky? Don't you want me to feel better? You can make it better-"

 

"No."

 

"Please?" It comes out as a desperate kind of whine.

 

"No."

 

"I know you want me, Bucky" your voice dropping slyly, suddenly.  "I know you pause outside my door sometimes at night on the way to your room. Because you hear your name, don't you Buck? Enhanced hearing, right? I know you can hear me, getting off, thinking about you. You stay and listen don't you? I know you do. I can see your shadow, breaking up the crack of light under the door. Do you hear me through the door, Bucky? Hear my quiet little moans, 'Bucky'" you moan softly the way you would.

 

"Stop," Bucky says defensively, guilt written all over his face. He's not really sure how you know that until he belatedly  remembers his room is the only one past yours. "That doesn't mean--that doesn't make this right, you're still not yourself. You need to leave."

 

 Bucky removes your hand from his arm, and stands, preparing to lift you off the couch, he leans down over you.

 

"But don't you wanna know, Buck? Don't you wanna know how wet I get for you, how wet I am for you right now-" you prompt innocently, grabbing his flesh hand and placing it on the inside of your thigh, slowly trailing it up, looking up at Bucky sultrily.

 

Bucky's breath catches. He's going to hell, god, he's going to hell and you're leading the goddamn way. As the Winter Soldier he was a puppet. But this. For this he’s in full control of himself. He doesn't have anyone to blame.

 

He snatches his hand away just as it reaches the top of your thigh, breathing heavily.

 

"You can watch, Bucky. You don't even have to touch me. You can just watch, I know you want to-" a hand dips below the waistband of your shorts and Bucky may as well be in a fucking trance, eyes glued to the furtive movement of your hand as you gasp out obscene little noises.

 

He's still leaning over you from where you're laying on the couch. He can't move--torn between wanting to be closer but knowing he should move away. Tell you to stop. But he can't.  He just watches. Watches you work yourself over. Watches you watching him through hooded eyes. Listens to the noises you make. How many times had he imagined pulling those noises from you. Finally, he can't take it anymore. He decides you're just going to be the cherry on top of all the other things he's going to be damned for.

 

 Bucky's gaze lingers a fraction of a second too long on your lips, and you smile another Cheshire grin at him, before  hungrily closing the gap, moaning at the first brush of your overly sensitized lips against Bucky's. Bucky kisses back tentatively at first, but when your tongue runs along his bottom lip only seconds later he groans, loosening up for you. You surge up against him, like a hunting dog catching a trace of blood, pulling him down onto the couch and crawling into his lap before he can protest.

 

 Hands frantically roaming his body, sighing against his mouth. You can feel every particle of every surface you touch in vivid detail and Bucky's body is a religious experience beneath your fingertips. You suck his bottom lip between your own, and releasing it with a nip. Bucky licks over your top lip in response, giving himself up, losing himself, returning your fervor. Tongues sliding together in the filthiest way. His lips are so damn plush. Plush and giving, pushing perfectly against yours in way that's both wrong and right. Both of your hands fist in his hair, grinding down on his lap, shifting so you're just positioned on one of thighs.

 

Watching you with lust darkened eyes, he flexes the muscle of his thigh. It’s deliciously firm and broad between your legs and you circle your hips against it. The friction is electric against your core. It’s not going to take much to send you over the edge.

 

"Look at you sweetheart, getting yourself off on my thigh, hell," his voice tickling the crook of your jaw, shooting straight down your spine, he sucks harshly at your pulse point.

 

His name spills from your lips as you come undone, shuddering on his thigh, your panties are completely soaked, soaking through the thin cotton of your shorts.

 

"You're so hot," Bucky murmurs in disbelief, palming your center. "Fuck, c'mere," he lifts you easily from the couch, setting you down on the edge of the bed, clothes vanishing as he quickly divests you of them.

 

He lays on the center of the bed, flesh hand slipping between your legs as move over him.

 

"Jesus," his fingers are instantly coated with you. Your head falls down on his chest, wracked with pleasure as he teases you. He grabs your hips and moves you up his body, mouth trailing lower and lower over your stomach until your thighs are on either side of his jaw, hips canting forward in anticipation. Bucky smoothes his hands over your stomach, before settling them on your hips to still you.

 

"Shhh, relax, I'm gonna take care of you doll, give you just what you need," Bucky promises, blue eyes shining up at you from in between your thighs, mostly trying to convince himself that he’s helping you. That you need this.

 

Your eyes fall shut at the same moment Bucky's tongue starts lapping gently at your core. You’re sweet. Just like he imagined you’d be. And so wet. God, he never imagined you, or anyone, could be _this_ wet. The head of his cock weeps in response.

 

"Bucky," you keen highly, "yes, oh my god yes."

 

His tongue is silky hot and skilled, taking his time, licking carefully through your wet folds, knowing everything he does is already being amplified by the drugs. You rub yourself over his jaw in rhythm with the glide of his tongue which bumps the underside of your clit with every swipe, feeling yourself soak his stubble. Bucky's hands run encouragingly over your stomach, up to your breasts, the contrast in texture creating a lightshow behind your eyes.  The metal hand tweaking a nipple as he seals his lips around your clit, suckling until you come loudly, one hand braced against the wall above him, hips stuttering against his tongue, glazing his lips and chin with your release.

 

The sharp taste of your come flooding his tongue, the sight of you writhing on his face, has his cock pulsing weakly, untouched, in his sweats and he hums his release against your clit as he licks you until you’re whimpering. The sensation somehow too much and not enough all at once, but desire has yet to leave your body.

 

Shifting down from Bucky's face, you lick yourself from his chin before kissing him thoroughly, slower than before, but no less dirty.

 

"How do you feel?" Bucky asks, running his hands down your back comfortingly.

 

"It's not enough, Bucky. Not enough, I still need. Need you."

 

Bucky empathetically slots his lips against yours before you move down his body, tugging his sweatpants down, to reveal his swollen length, glistening with pearls of white from his untouched release. You swipe your tongue against his hardened cock, cleaning him spotless, before continuing to remove his sweatpants.

 

Bucky moves to sit on the edge of the bed, retrieving a condom from the nightstand, and pulls you into his lap so your knees are on the bed, straddling his thighs, and your back is pressed against the wall of muscle that is his chest. Positioning yourself over the thick head of his cock, Bucky's lips are pressed intimately against your temple. He sighs and murmurs praise against your cheek as you draw his length into your heat. Air catches impossibly tight in your throat at being so full, so stretched. Eyes rolling back into your head as you slide instinctively up and down his cock. Bucky thrusts his hips against yours, taking over, knowing your body is most likely exhausted whether you know it or not.

 

Your head falls back onto his shoulder as you become numb with euphoria. You can't move, you can't do anything. All you can do is whine, whimper, and moan your appreciation for Bucky's cock. He keeps a purposefully measured pace, winding you up tight, hoping to tire you out. The slide of his cock against your walls is a sinful velvet sensation.

 

The cybernetic hand caresses the column of your throat, settling lightly there, just enough to create pleasant pressure. The cool of the hand is a revelation for your overheated skin. Your walls flutter in response and Bucky thrusts deeper into you, but still keeps you on edge. He fucks you until his stamina runs out, quickening his pace, slowing again, occasionally brushing your clit with his flesh hand, only to remove it when your walls begin to tighten around him. He can't hold off any longer though, the threat of his delayed release is almost painful. His thrusts become sharper and his fingers circle your clit until you're falling into the realm of delirium, heart hammering almost to a stop as the immense force of your orgasm hits you like a blissful stroke of lightning while Bucky finds his release, length throbbing within you for seconds uncounted.    Metallic fingers subconsciously holding you tighter against him as he seeks to be grounded, length continuing to ease both his and your pleasure to its tired end until you're both still, breathless. Bucky plants gentle kisses along your throat, removing his metal hand, trying to erase the pink tinted marks of his fingers.

 

Bucky lifts you tenderly off of his lap, disappearing to the bathroom to dispose of the condom. Then there's the distant sound of wardrobe drawers opening and closing in the dark while you gaze up at the ceiling, some of the fog beginning to clear from your mind. Bucky returns clad in tight fitting boxers and hands you a shirt and a pair of boxers for yourself.

 

"Coming down yet?" Bucky asks, sliding the boxers up your legs. You could do it yourself, but Bucky wants to do it, wants to take care of you.

 

There's a throbbing ache at the front of your head and a hollow exhaustion sets in  as your senses return to normal. The air is just air. The fabric of Bucky's comforter is unextraordinary. Bucky's touch though, Bucky's light touch, hands resting on your waist through the cotton of his shirt as he looks at you expectantly, still has your skin tingling anew and you suppose Bucky is something you'll never be able to come down from.

 

"Yeah, I think so. Could use some tylenol now." You joke half heartedly, rubbing your forehead.

 

"Sure thing, sweetheart." Bucky is gone in a flash, returning a few minutes later with Tylenol and a glass of ice water from the kitchen.

 

"I'm sorry-" you begin to apologize after downing the pills and water, because a guilty, haunted looked has crept into Bucky's eyes. "I shouldn't have come to you, shouldn't have put you in that position."

 

"Hey, c'mere-" Bucky pulls you close, arms wrapping around you "I know better than anyone what its like to not be yourself. I should have been stronger. I shouldn't have let this happen. It's my fault."

 

"Bucky, no, this is Hydra's fault. They did this to me. I wanted you before, and I still want you now. I'm glad I was here with you instead-" you end abruptly, trying not to imagine the alternative if you hadn't been able to make it out, falling silent at the thought of exactly what those Hydra officers had planned for you.

 

Bucky's jaw tenses and his eyes darken momentarily as the same thought crosses his mind. He brushes it aside. He's going to kill them all. But not tonight. He kisses your forehead instead.

 

"Let's go to bed," he prompts, raking the covers back.

 

The drugs may have worn off, but you drift off to sleep high on the feeling of Bucky's body solid against yours.

 

 

 


End file.
